A burglar in Bakerstreet
by wheremakingthishapen
Summary: John tells about a certain night in which she couldn't sleep. He went out of bed to find out where it came from.


This is just a fanfiction. All characters belong to Arthur Conan Doyle and as for the tv series from 2010, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.

It started as a night that was like many others; a night in which I got exhausted from writing on my blog... It was long enough to nearly collapse. Falling asleep while sitting was a trick I learned myself to do in the army. Useful, I thought, but others weren't happy with it. I closed my laptop and went off to bed.

Even though the warm bedsheets felt nice and comfy then, I wasn't able to fall asleep. There was some particular sound secretly bugging me. I was too tired to notice it first, but when I heard a loud 'cloing!', I was as awake as on the most thrilling adventures.  
Then there was silence. I started thinking 'Was Sherlock the one who made those noises? Or perhaps a thief?' I started to panic at the latter, yet staid in bed for what seemed a couple more minutes.

Suddenly I heard another sound. It wasn't as loud as the first one, but heck, I heard it. I'm pretty sure it was the sound of metal clashing against, well, something else. It could have been any weapon that I just heard... so I grabbed myself one too - my gun, of course - and slowly stepped outside of the bedroom. Where... where did that sound come from? I wasn't sure.

I wasn't sure either wether it was fear or the cold floor under my bare feet that made me shiver. The suspense was killing me. I started perspiring like an idiot. It's like I gave a whole new meaning to sweating vegetables! I may have been very quiet, but I assumed my smell must have drawn attention.

It didn't, apparently. I heard one more loud 'cling' before all hell broke loose. I heard drawers and shelves being emptied and jars being thrown at the ground and breaking in hundreds of pieces. I heard pans falling on the ground. Glasses, mugs, forks, knifes, spoons and whatsoever you need to eat or drink with, it flew through the air - I still didn't see any of this, but heard 'woosh' repeatedly - , scratched the marble of the kitchen and scattered across the floor. Never thought I would be, but I really was terrified to step in (and get a fork or knife thrown at my head.)

My fear turned into anger when I finally heard a loud 'GOT IT'. I sprinted towards the kitchen door, pulled it open, looked at the forks that penetrated it and then looked forward to see the ravage in front of and around me. I'd like to tell what the room looked like, but I'll spare you the details. It didn't look what a kitchen should look like.

This all wasn't even my greatest concern though, no. It was the person in front of me. That dreadful person there. The person knew I was here, but refused to even look at me. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to ask them whatever the reason was to make such a mess at 2:00 pm and then I'd punch them until that person can't see but red.

I didn't even want to wait for them to say my name first. 'Sherlock', I murmured. 'Sherlock', I said a bit louder. 'what... the HELL did you do that for?'

He turned swiftly around, which made his shiny silk bathrobe move along. He had a terribly annoying smirk on his face.

'John'. He grins.

'Oh god, here comes the deduction' I thought and of course I was right. He is a damn predictable dedective.

'I waited until you were asleep. I know you were, because your breathing became more irregular and louder, yet it wasn't snoring. You were dreaming about me as a pirate and my dear brother as a privateer. You faked the Scottish accent well, I must say. Your subconsciousness imagined quite a heroic story in which you were the protagonist and stopped the cold war between legal and illegal piracy, each side represented by me and my sibling. But that aside, once I knew you were vast asleep, I sneaked into the kitchen to find the object I have been searching for for so long. Now you do really love jam, but that can't be all you like to eat. Nooo... I suspected there MUST have been something else, something different, that you find so delicious that you never mention it. Why did you hide it, or rather, from whom? Well obviously you didn't hide it for me. You know I barely ever eat and of all things I've ever heard of, this is something I would NEVER eat. From whom did you want to keep it away then? Ah, of course! Mrs. Hudson! You know she doesn't steal and if she would take a tiny bit of this, you'd be furious. She will let you know that she ate some of it and you will convince her it's okay, but deep down, you know you won't ever forgive her and you could never live with yourself. Not with such feelings about a trivial matter of which only you thought you knew you understood. Now how did I find what you hid from her? Easy. I made a list in my head of all kinds of food that you ever mentioned to me or others. Now if I find something that wasn't in that list, it SHOULD be what you're hiding. In fact, I know it IS. And that object is... THIS.'

He got the object from behind his inhuman slender back and held it up, as a final act, to show how great he was for finding out what I have been hiding. It was a Nutella jar.

Normally I would have said 'You're still such a little kid.' or perhaps replace 'kid' with 'dick', but that moment was different. I was too annoyed with him to even speak. He woke me up (I don't care wether that was intentional or not), made a scene in the kitchen and then told me how he found out that I hid something. He just needed to tell me this in the middle of the goddamn night. Even though I felt nothing but annoyed, the expression on my face was blank.

'Well? Am I right?' he asked.

'You...'

'I what? Am I great? Amazing? Are you terrified by my deductions? Is it that-'

'No, no.'

The grimace on his face faded away. He finally shut his mouth.

'Yes, alright, I did hide the Nutella jar. But that was a long time ago. I even forgot about putting it there!

He remained silent.

'But that's not the reason for looking around in the kitchen, is it? I think you were just hungry... and suddenly wanted this.'

'...yes.' He sounded very sore.

I nodded for perhaps a few seconds too long. I walked over to him and took the jar out of his hand to put it down. 'Sherlock, if you wanted to eat something special, you could have just asked. You never eat with me.' Perhaps the last sentence sounded a bit desperate. I sighed.

'I'm sorry.' Although the words were coming out of his mouth, they didn't even surprise me.

'I know.'

I walked over to the cettle, which was surprisingly intact. His eyes still spoke of shock.

'What are you doing?'

'Making your breakfast, of course. Would you like some coffee?'

'Well uh, buh, um, yeah, yes.' He most definitly couldn't comprehense why I did this for him after yelling at him. Not that I knew why, but honestly, I didn't care either.

He kicked away some pieces of broken plates and mugs and sat down on the floor, keeping his knees to his face. I gave him a plate with on it a bread roll with the long lost chocolate spread and next to it a croissant with cheese. After a few minutes the water was boiling and I saw Sherlock was still looking at his plate with a confused expression. I gave him the coffee in the least damaged mug, kicked away some forks and pans as well and settled myself down next to him.

'You seem tired' he said as he finally took a bite from the bread roll. He grinned a bit, but turned back to me with his most worried look.

'Guess whose fault that is.' That was a statement, not a question.

We continued to sit like this for about 10 minutes. I couldn't know for sure, because Sherlock broke the clock. When he was done eating, I noticed the atmosphere was pleasant again. 'Oh god... Mrs. Hudson is going to kill us.' he said, looking at the demolished room. He snorted. We laughed hysterically. 'I don't think so, actually.' I say. 'Oh?' 'Yeah, you made a mess so... all your it's all responsibility.' I enjoyed how stunned he looked by my response. I ruffled his hair a bit and stood up.

As I stood by the door, I hestitated and turned around. 'Next time you're having breakfast... or dinner, whatsoever, just let it be with me.'

He still stared with big eyes at me.

'And not in the middle of the night, please.'

'Can do.' he murmured.

I grin. 'Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a couple of hours to spend SLEEPING.' I said as I left the room.

That all happened a few days ago. I think my roommate just asked me something. I apologise, but do not ask what he said. I rather enjoy this peaceful moment. There is one thing that has been bugging me though. It's not a sound. It's somethind I'd like to get it off my chest.

'Sherlock.'

'Yes?'

'Let's have dinner.' Before he can say something offensive, I interrupt. 'Let's as in 'let us'. I don't want to be alone again.'

He agrees. I look at the clock and we're off.


End file.
